


Five Gifts for August

by Wistarie



Category: When The Night Comes (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wistarie/pseuds/Wistarie
Summary: It’s August’s birthday.A certain someone has no chill when it comes to gifting.





	Five Gifts for August

**Author's Note:**

> It's still the 25th somewhere in the world, right?
> 
> I tried for fluff. I think I found something else (but there's fluff, too)

# Five Gifts for August

The small package looked innocently enough, wrapped in brown paper and resting upon a couple half-finished reports. August had not expected a delivery, and certainly not one sent to their office without speaking to them directly.  
Curious, they thought, and perhaps dangerous.  
Many people and creatures had reason to send something to do them harm, after all.  
A quick spell showed no sign of traps or tampering, though, so they renewed their shields and opened the package. Inside, in another, prettier box they found a pen and a note, dark calligraphy on creamy white paper. 

> _It may look fragile, but I can assure you it is not. It reminded me of you. Happy birthday._

The pen’s elegant form made of clear glass with purple swirls inside looked indeed quite fragile. One eyebrow raised, August examined the package more closely.  
Their colleagues had already congratulated them in passing, so they would not bother. A bottle of wine from the Lieutenant General stood on their cabinet, next to another one from their newest charges, given in haste before the two of them started their work for today.  
August frowned. They preferred to know what and who they dealt with; the script seemed vaguely familiar, but they could not place it. If this was some kind of practical joke, they knew of nobody willing to plan and execute it like this. Glass pens were neither cheap nor easy to find and would make a rather nice gift.  
The box, along with the pen, found a place next to the bottles; a mystery to be solved another time.  
August took the brown paper to throw it away as a second, smaller note fell to the ground.

> _I hope you regard this gift as the sign of appreciation and admiration it is meant to be. It is not my intention to make you uncomfortable but to brighten your day a little. If you do not enjoy the attention, this will be the last gift delivered to you._

Well, that answered nothing, August thought and folded the note neatly in half. At least it was not signed ‘your secret admirer’. Small mercies. Even if they were developing an interest in a certain person - which they were decidedly _not_ , thank you - it would be foolish to get their hopes up. Very foolish indeed, especially when there was work to be done.  
Thus, the note joined the box and the bottles and August joined their paperwork.

Five hours later, a knock interrupted them just as they were trying to decipher Dreston’s messy handwriting. Naturally.  
“Enter”, they called and the door opened.  
“General Enforcer Willenheim”, the bakery’s delivery boy said and bowed as well as he could with the box he carried, “I’ve got an order for you.”  
August’s eyebrow arched. “I did not order anything”  
The boy didn’t look too surprised. “No, well... We got a note. Someone wanted us to get these to you and paid in advance, but we have no idea who it’s from.”  
Hopefully not. August certainly didn’t want this matter to be the talk of the town, people wondering who in Eskria was _that_ desperate.  
“I see. Just leave this on my desk, then, if you please.”  
The boy did what they asked and bowed again.  
“Good day”, August said and looked back at the report.  
After a few seconds of silence, the boy understood and excused himself; August looked at their closed door, then they opened the cardboard box. The filled puff pastries it contained looked good and smelled even better, but they were more interested in the note that would surely be somewhere to be found.

> _As I cannot judge your taste in pastries with confidence, I took the liberty to send you a small selection._

The same calligraphy, the same paper, the same lack of a signature. How vexing.  
They considered the pastries carefully, first with sharp eyes, then with their magic. However, they appeared to be safe and, after a cautious bite, delicious.  
Taking care not to spread crumbs everywhere, they continued their work without pondering who might be behind the gifts and what they might mean.  
The day went on and Lunaris grew dark and quiet when sunset approached. One by one, August’s colleagues left the Headquarters.  
Another knock on the door disturbed their work.  
“Enter”, August said and hoped it would not be another box of foodstuff but actual work this time around.  
It was neither. Apparently, another enforcer saw it fit to inform them about the package on the floor in front of their door before somebody tripped over it.  
Alone again, August turned it over in their hands. The package seemed harmless, like the two before wrapped in brown paper.

It was a book. ‘ _The Gardens at Dawn_ ’ by Dahlia Wintersgreen, imprinted in golden letters on the book’s cover. They had not yet read any of her works but knew of her novels, much-heralded classy romances with a dash of sharp wits and charming _dramatis personae_.  
The attached note read: 

> _This book is one of my favourites. I sincerely hope you enjoy it as well._

This, August thought, was enough. The notes’ implications, someone caring enough to send them things like that, but not enough to leave them with a name, anything to figure out who was sending those packages. The note crumpled in their fist. Someone’s passing fancy perhaps, if they felt gracious. Most likely, though, a way for someone to laugh not in their face but behind their back about how they could be foolish enough to think someone could harbour an _interest_ in them. They even thought, for a moment, that it could have been - no. They would not let themself hope. He would sign such notes, if he meant it. But he didn't feel this way. No, this was someone mocking their interests, their taste, and if they found out who-

A knock interrupted their thoughts, again.  
Briefly, August considered not to answer, to wait until whoever was on the other side of the door with _another bloody package_ left them _alone_.  
“Enter”, they said and put the note away and the book in the desk’s top drawer.  
“Evening, August. We’re done for today”  
The hunter’s voice sounded raspy and he looked like he could use a few hours of rest, but he held himself upright. His clothing was in one piece, too, so he was probably unharmed. Still, how he managed to look handsome when his hair was in disarray and he was visibly exhausted, August had no idea.  
“I’m not inconveniencing you, am I? I saw a light in your window and thought I’d hand in my report now.”  
In one hand, he held a few pieces of paper, in the other a pot. What that was for, they had no idea and no particular desire to ask.  
“Just hand it over, will you?”  
August looked over the pages. No casualties, no injuries, both parties agreed to cease hostilities. Good. So why was he still standing there?  
“Is there anything you need?”  
“I’m curious about your day - and I wanted you to have this, too”, he said and handed them the pot with a small smile.

The small clay pot, half-filled with earth and with a note attached. Fluid black calligraphy, creamy white paper. _How to care for amaryllis._ How very thoughtful.  
“So it was you who sent the gifts”, August said, voice carefully neutral.  
He looked perplexed, August thought, surprised even. “Yes, of course. You didn’t know?”  
“Had you signed those notes I wouldn’t have had to guess” August found it hard to keep their voice free from the irritation they felt, “It is not kind to play games, Hunter.”  
Some emotion flashed over his face, through his aura. “If you think this is a game to me, then you don’t know me at all. I simply thought signing was unnecessary - after all, I filled the very first form you gave me in this exact script.”  
August huffed a laugh that sounded decidedly not amused. “Forgive me if the only handwriting I associate with your person looks like you wrote it drunk while lying on the tavern floor.”  
The hunter looked at them for a second with wide eyes, then he shook his head, then he laughed, eyes filling with mirth. August’s mouth went dry.  
“I’m sorry, that’s… it’s probably less drunken stupor and more exhaustion after a hunt. I’ll be more careful in the future. About everything”, he said, his expression turning solemn and his last words so soft they nearly didn’t hear him.  
August swallowed. They opened their mouth to say something, but he beat them to it:  
“I don’t want you to think I’m playing games, I just wished to give you something more meaningful than a bottle of your favourite wine, to let you know that I care. The next time, I hope to give you any gifts in person.”  
“See that you do”, they said after a pause, when they trusted their voice again, “because now I have high expectations”.

His laugh, August thought, made a nice gift, too.

* * *

A year later, August raised their eyebrow at the beautiful black leather briefcase on their bedside table. Last night, it had not been there.  
Behind them, the hunter kissed their jaw and tugged them closer against his chest.  
“Good morning and happy birthday, beautiful. Did you sleep well?”  
“ _‘I hope your first gift today will be of use’_ , signed _‘your secret admirer’_?”, August read in the most unimpressed tone they could muster, “is this how it’s going to be from now on?”  
They not only heard but felt his laugh and tried to suppress a smile.  
“Maybe”, he said with a grin that looked as happy as August felt in his arms, “maybe not. You’ll have to keep me around to find out.”  
August turned in his arms, murmured “Then I shall do that”, and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this :)  
> This turned into a completely different direction than I expected - and I hope I did August justice.
> 
> Gentle concrit is very welcome :)


End file.
